Harry's Lost Daze
by mike.dorman33
Summary: Harry Potter, like most teenagers, had some growing pains. Only more than most. This story tracks the troubled and covered-up story of Hogwart's most beloved boy-whiz.
1. A Rude, Red Awakening

It greeted Harry over his wash-bin.

A red hulk of a thing, bulbous like the wart on a witch's nose, shouting for all the world to "look at me". It bloomed right there on the middle of his forehead: a zit. Right before his big date.

"Shit." He slammed his reflection as if he could knock some sense into it. "Mirror, mirror, on the wall, is this a trick or do you need to fall? Again?"

Like a stone's echo against a lake's surface, ripples formed on the mirror, vibrating into the shape of a mouth. "No...no tri..tricks, Master Harry," the mirror stuttered, "It's real, I'm afraid. I'm sorry, Harry-Master Harry, I'm not at fault. Honest..."

Harry splashed some water on his cheeks, his eye-sockets pulling grotesquely with his mouth. He slapped his cheeks against his open mouth again, trying to shock himself awake. He shouldn't have drunken so much Punched Cider last night. Or the night before.

_Think Potter. Think!_ The spell was easy enough. Harry grasped for his wand beside the mouth-wash. "Expecto Fungoto!" He twirled the wand once around his wrist and delicately dabbed the zit on the mirror. He blinked his eyes once.

And the zit blinked back.

Well, it stared: all red and swollen.

Harry clenched his fist. "Mirror, mirror, hanging there, I'm about to beat your derrière. If you're playing tricks on me, so help me-"

"No tricks, sir, ma..master Harry, no tricks. It must be no ordinary zit...er, blemish, sir, uh, Master Harry. That, sir, is an enchanted zit. Yes, sir, an enchanted break-out. As you can see, no...no fault of mine. Nope. Nothing I could have done against-"

"Silence!" Harry's head pounded. They didn't call it _Punched_ cider without reason. He needed to think. But what little weasel could have pulled this on him? What little weasel had the _nerve_ to try this on _him_, Harry Potter?

That was it. That...little weasel. That bastard! That back-stabber! There was only one thing that made would-be wizards act more reckless than Punched Cider did, only one thing that made an apprentice more insane than a handful of Warlock's 'Shrooms: Love. And it was no secret that Ron Weasley was red-hair over heels in love with Hermione Granger.

So Ron wanted to sabotage their date did he?

Harry flung on his robe and paced around his room. It might have been small, the stone floor cold, no window to lighten the gray severity, but it was _his_ room. There was a privy beside the niche where his mirror and wash-basin stood, the other space taken up by his bed. He looked up at his Quiddich trophies fighting for room on the shelf above his bed. _Hermione doesn't want to date a _loser_, you weasel, she wants a winner_.

He was going to make that queasy, little red-head _pay_. But first...He knelt down, searching the books beneath his bed for a spell, a potion, anything that could get rid of this, this...blemish on his forehead.

"Ma...Master? I hate to be a bother, or cause any trouble-"

On his way back up, Harry bumped his head against the side-board. "What is it?!"

"Uh...somebody approaches. I'm afraid...I'm terribly sorry but, I think you forgot about that certain little matter with-" The liquid mouth vanished with a knock on the door.

"We know you're in there, Potter." The knocks were like thunder, filled with purpose. Boots rustled and keys jangled outside. There must have been at least three of them, whoever they were.

What choice did he have?

The old wizard shouldered into the room before Harry had opened the door an inch, two more of his navy-blue robed cronies following on his heels. At least they tried to follow. The third was a bit middle-heavy, and there simply was no more room left, so he stood only half inside, his belly holding the door open.

"Harry Potter, I am Darryl Drummenfurl, of the Ministrium for Hogwarts Domestic Hygeine." His beard was grey and clung to his chin like moss from a weeping-willow. Folding to the side at its peak, his hat resembled a cone. Under its press, waves of gray hair tumbled to his shoulders. His eyes looked like spoiled milk, and Harry couldn't quite figure out where their gaze was fixed.

"Ok, _Darryl_." Harry folded his arms. "So what do you want?" What was the old wind-bag thinking, come barging in on him like this? Harry had enough things to worry about. Things were always so ridiculous at Hogwarts. If _he_ ran the school, things would be a lot different, a lot better...

"You've broken your agreement with Mrs. Honeysuckle." It was the man behind Darryl, tilting his head as he addressed Harry. His eyes were much more focused than his superiors'. "Luckily we were close by; the magic was small, only a tingle. But a broken agreements' a broken agreement."

As the two Domestic-Hygeine Ministers drug Harry from his room by the sleeve, Harry turned his head and snarled at the mirror.

#

As eloquent as Mrs. Helena Honeysuckle's name was, she was only a muggle. Her office was on the back-side lawn of Hogwarts, an ugly, white thing that reminded Harry of a tiny mushroom under the soaring, stone, East-side tower. It was so muggle, so huddled to the ground, so functional. There were no arched-windows or terraced arcades, no latticed spires or worked-stone in sight; only white-washed timber capped by a flat roof.

It was only because of Hermione.

He never gave the architecture a second thought until Hermione started prattling on about what her latest books taught her.

"What do you like about her?" Mrs. Honeysuckle-er, _Helena,_ (she was always telling Harry to please, just call her _Helena_)-Helena slid her elbows across the desk, dropped her chin in her palms, and smiled.

Well, there was a _couple_ things he liked about her, but Harry couldn't just come out and say _that_. Life had its seasons, and it was the blossoming Spring of Hermione's; people had started to notice things besides her wit. They couldn't help but notice. _Everyone_ was noticing.

"I don't know." Harry slunked inside his shoulders, keeping his eyes fixed on the desk. He wasn't stupid: he knew what she was trying. She wanted to butter him up, work on him like a piece of meat till he was soft. Like all those other dough-boys in the pictures that took up every square inch of the wall behind her: they were almost always hugging someone, an adult usually, or they were huddled in a group like they were talking Quidditch strategy. As if those lards could play Quidditch.

"Come on Harry, there must be _something_."

Harry looked back up. His first mistake.

Mrs. Honeysuc-Helena-was the kind of lady he could imagine himself with when he was older: sweet, sort of funny, and pretty. For a muggle, she sure was enchanting. Gold ringlets of hair fell to her shoulders, blue-eyes sparkling behind the high-curves of her cheekbones. And she always smelled like a field of summer flowers. She smiled at him.

"She's cool, I guess." Harry shrugged his shoulders. "And smart."

He couldn't quite figure out what he was doing here. Those Domestic Hygiene-hacks had been making his life their business and an overall headache for the past semester. Though they acted like his magical pranks were something akin to black magic (_when_ they caught him), puffing up their chests and wriggling their beards as if Harry were Voldemort re-born, their only punishment was Mrs. Honeysuckle.

Helena smiled again. When she lifted her gaze to Harry's forehead, the smile wilted. "So why did you break our agreement, bud? No magic for a week, we said. Well, it's only been a couple days. Remember what we agreed about consequences, Harry?"

It was always "we" with this chick. Harry might have had his wand and some Latin-sounding vocabulary, but Helena had her smiles. It wasn't as if she was considering not _smiling_ for a week.

"I guess I forgot."

Then the game began. Only this time, since Harry had slipped on his last move, he had to concede more than he would have liked. The strategy was simple: keep your head down, eyes fastened to the desk, mumble a few things she wanted to hear, and don't say a word more than necessary. Above all, don't say more than necessary. In the end, it was determined that "we" thought an entire month without a magic spell was appropriate. But "we" couldn't accept her suggestion for a consequence if that was broken.

"That's bullshit. No _way_ I'm going to come talk here every day. What if I forget...like, like today? What if something just pisses me off?"

Helena smiled. "You know why I don't just have my office in the East wing of Hogwart's Harry? They offered it. I don't want my office in Hogwart's because I think it's important for growing young men like yourself to have some time away from enchantment. Sometimes, with all this magic and enchantment around, some kids have a real hard time finding who it is that they really are underneath all that...pageantry. You know what I mean, Harry? Who are you, I mean, who are you _really_?"

_I'm Harry bloody Potter. I've killed more trolls than you've seen Quidditch matches. _He kept to his strategy and kept his arms folded. He shouldn't have slipped, fallen into her trap, shouldn't have burst in anger.

"It doesn't have to be a power struggle, Harry. It's not supposed to be."

Harry glanced up at the clock. These games usually ran on for an hour, an hour that might as well have been enchanted, as long as it ran. There were only a few minutes left. A few minutes and he'd be free, ready to nail that son-of-a-muggle Ron. But first, he needed to find something for this eyesore on his forehead.

Mrs. Honey-Helena-stared at his forehead as if reading his thoughts. "Look, I'm just gonna come out and say it. You know what a _genetic propensity_ is?"

It pissed him off. Hermione did the same thing, always asking him if he knew what such and such was, like he was stupid or something. So what if he often didn't know what it was?

But when he found out-it meant that because your parents had a certain condition, that you were more likely to have the same condition than others (why didn't they just say _that_?)-it only made him angrier.

"It's just that your Father was well known for his love of the Punched Cider, among other substances. Most of Hogwarts was willing to overlook his...extravagances...because of his wizardry. But I'm worried about _you_, Harry. I think you might have a problem-"

Harry almost blacked out in anger. It was bloody magical that he didn't up and slug her in the face.

She thought he was an _alcoholic_?


	2. Canyon Chicken and Potions

Harry sat down on his Firebolt and kicked his heel against the ground. Stomach sommer-saulting with the sudden jolt, he was speeding at 70 in less than three seconds' ticks, wrapping around East Wing's spires as he climbed.

He loved to ride.

Days like these, he _needed_ to ride. It was the only thing that cleared his mind. Well, not the _only_ thing; but Dumbledore was cracking down on herb-burning and besides, he wanted all his wits for tonight. Finally, just him and Hermione, alone, without that red-headed third-wheel whining along.

He rolled over in the air, exhilarated, dipping back down as the cavern yawned below him. The green and granite rush of Hogwarts' high-valley hills vanished abruptly, a slender line of river far below glowing white in the sun's reflection.

He pulled up the front of his _Firebolt_, rocketing once more in the sky, eventually slowing to a halt as he reached his final altitude. Any higher and the air was too thin to breath.

This was where he was home.

_Hah!_ Harry scowled. _Like I've ever had a home. There was those pricks the Dursleys-they stuck me in that closet for hell's sake._ He had started naming the spiders then, locked up in the stairwell on 4 Privet Drive, his only friends in that dimness a couple of daddy long-legs he came to know as Ted and James.

_And now this shit with Mrs. Honeysuckle._

But that didn't matter now. He hung there in the sky, poised, no longer soaring and not yet falling; just there, up high, balanced somewhere between heaven and earth. For that extended moment before the fall, he felt...peace. He felt like he belonged.

Of course the fall was fun, too.

It'd become sort of a game, before Ron had gotten too queasy on him, too scared and worried about getting hurt, before Ron quit riding with him and started threatening to tell. But it was fun enough alone: how long could you free fall before pulling up on your broom?

The ground was yet far away, the river that cut through the canyon like a small crack in a wall, and Harry could even see the gray water of the English Channel on the horizon. He loved the rush of air and adrenaline, his hair whipping against his cheeks as he tumbled up and around and around and down, tumbling, falling, tumbling towards the ground.

There came a point where the ground started rushing towards you. It was a dangerous point, because up high, it seemed so slow before—whoosh-the earth rushed from below to swallow you.

This was the point Harry played with; the difference between winning and losing. Which, Ron whined, was fast becoming the difference between life and death.

Not even when he was alone with Hermione did he feel more alive. His heart pushed against his chest, threatened to explode, his knuckles white as they held the stick through the jolting of gravity. And still he held.

Just a moment longer.

It was too long, Harry realized in terror, throwing his arms almost over his head as he pulled up on the _Firebolt_ in a desperate attempt to avoid crashing into the river. It was too late. The river jumped up to swallow him. Still he pulled up, up, closing his eyes now as the water reached for him...

He felt a sting on his shins, first hot and then cool, and then a rush of wind against his face. Water dripped from the end of broom as he realized, triumphantly, he had done it!

"WHOOOOHEEEEE!"

A cluster of black-robed apprentices cheered from a clearing in a nearby cliff, hooping and hollering and jumping.

After a few victory roll-overs, Harry curved back around, grazing the heads of his audience before zooming between the trees of the forest. He flung his broom rapidly to the side as if he were sweeping the floor (the _Clean Break_, he'd named the move), his sudden brake sending bark, dirt, and pine needles scattering in the air. Swinging around with the momentum, Harry rolled off his broom and bowed to his approaching audience.

"Impressive, Potter." Draco Malfoy came striding in front of the group, a pursed smirk on his lips as he clapped his hands. "Quite impressive. There's no possible way to beat your mark, so I guess your free to take from our little circle." Malfoy signaled at his friends Gregory Goyle and Vincent Crabbe with the bob of his head.

Harry laughed inside. That prick Malfoy could barely conceal his relief. It was he who had challenged Harry to the game today, after the Punched Cider had let slip what Harry did alone in his free time.

Vincent Crabbe, the fat one, crossed his arms over his wide girth, and frowned, refusing to move. "I don't want to share with _him_. I mean, come on Draco, it's _Potter_."

"Oh, that's not very nice Vincent. Potter here's turned over a new leaf." Draco smiled wickedly at Harry. "Isn't that right, Harry?"

"I just want to _burn_ this new leaf." Gregory Goyle chuckled, his eyes already bloodshot. "Whoosh. Whoosh. That was so..._cool_, man. _Real_ cool, Potter. That looks like fuuuunnn."

The rest of the group circled behind Draco; most of them Harry didn't recognize, aside from the fact that they were all Slytherin. A tall one with a red-goatee, must have been like a sixth or seven year, reached into his long-cuffed sleeve and pulled out a wrapped bundle of some sort.

Draco sat down on a fallen log, the others circling around him in the shade. The tall Slytherin unwrapped the cloth on the ground in front of Draco, the others stretching for a look. Vincent Crabbe rubbed his hands together in anticipation.

It was a pile of exquisite Green-Leaf. Little white flakes like sugar twinkled inside; Harry had never seen a finer crop.

"Woah." Harry joined the others in silent appreciation of what lay glistening on the unrolled cloth. "That's bloody well beautiful. But...man, I can't burn right now. I mean, Dumbledore's on the bloody prowl. You heard his announcement on Monday-"

"It was your idea, Potter," It was the red-goateed one. He looked puzzled. "Just cast that little spell of yours again-poof-there goes the smell, no one can tell you just burned-"

"I can't cast any spells right now-"

"And I've got something I came up with in _Potions and Ointments_," said a short, probably third-year with green eyes, pulling a small, plastic vial out of his robe's inner-pocket. "Dumbledore and GroundsKeep will never suspect: It makes your eyes as white as fresh-fallen snow. Ha, ha! Gregory could really use some right-"

"-You can't cast any spells right now?" Draco narrowed his eyes at Harry, "And why not, Potter?"

Harry didn't want Malfoy to know about his little discussions with Mrs. Honeysuckle. Bloody hell, he didn't want _anyone _to find out; only losers and white-trash went to the "muggle building behind the tower". But if Draco Malfoy, of all the name-smearers at Hogwarts, got a hold of that information... "I just _can't_, OK, Malfoy? I won the bet, didn't I? Maybe I just don't want to burn Green-Leaf in the middle of the day-"

The red-goateed sixth-year blew his lips. "Yeah right, Potter. You don't want to burn. And I was born to a pack of magical muggles in the Alaskan wilderness-"

"I'm sorry, you are?" Harry was ready to slug that bastard, if only because his red-goatee reminded Harry of what Ron would look like in a few years. It was the problem of being a star around campus: everyone acted so familiar with you, acting like since they knew your _reputation_ so well, they knew _you_.

"Freddy. Freddy Foxwell." He furrowed his red-eyebrows. "Surely you've heard of the Foxwells? Foxwell financial? Every stone in Hogwarts was practically mortared in place from our loans."

"Of course he knows the Foxwells, Freddy." Malfoy smiled at Harry wickedly, showing that he suspected Harry knew nothing at all about the Foxwells.

"I heard Potter here's got a date with _Hermione_ tonight." It was that fat bastard Vincent who said it. His eyes wrinkled when he smiled, swallowed by his swollen cheeks. "Maybe _that's_ why he don't want to burn no leaf right now."

"Yeah," If they already knew about it, so be it. It kept them from asking more questions that might uncover Mrs. Honeysuckle, "yeah, that's right. And?"

Another of the group, another older year by the looks of him, whistled. "Damn, Potter. I was wondering when you were gonna try and tap that-"

"Bugger off, you slime-"

"-You're not gonna go out like _that_, are you?" Malfoy laughed. "You've taken a look in the mirror lately, Potter? You've got a zit the size of Denmark and the color of an Indian smack-dab in the middle of your head."

_"Expecto Fungoto,"_ Freddy Foxwell dabbed his wand on Harry's forehead. He leaned in and squinted his eyes, looking like an idiot squirrel. "I don't get it, it's still there."

Harry batted the wand off his face as if it were an annoying fly. "It's an enchanted blemish, you idiot. You think I didn't try that first?" Harry suddenly had an idea. "Look: I won our bet from last night, Malfoy. If you want to honor it, how about you find me a potion or something for this bastard on my forehead?"

"Sure, Potter. Let me just reach in my sleeve and pull it out." Draco shook his head petulantly. "I carry anti-blemish cream on me all the time-"

"I mean later. Sooner, I mean," Harry batted his head. "Before tonight, I mean. We can meet in a couple hours? Come on, Malfoy, I know you got connections."

"Just go to the library!" It was the same third-year with the eye-cleaner. Bloody third-years, always trying to impress their superiors! "You can find a spell in a book, I'm sure-"

"No spells!" Harry sighed. "No spells, Ok? Just...Can you do it or not Malfoy? You got something to help or what?"

"Sure, Potter." Draco narrowed his eyes once more. "I can help. Just meet me in front of Slytherin hall after your last class."

Harry nodded his head. He had disliked Draco since their first meeting, and had hated him until recently, finding the entire House Slytherin a bunch of weak, elitist pricks with a silver spoon plugging their butts. But now...Slytherin House knew how to party, brewed a wicked batch of Punched Cider, and apparently had perfected the art of harvesting Green-Leaf. Draco was turning out to be an all right bloke, after all, once one realized you just couldn't trust him.

Harry shook his head as he went back to his broom. _Crazy how much things can change. Crazy how much _people_ can change_. As he straddled his Firebolt, he thought about Ron again. He thought about how he was gonna get back at him. Without magic.

"Wait! You seriously not gonna burn?," Gregory shouted at Harry, "Freddy can cast the OdorDestroyer, if that's what you're worried about. The evening is hours away yet. You're not just gonna go are you? Did you _see_ this stuff?"

_Yeah,_ Harry placed his broom back on the bed of needles, _Why not?_


	3. The Merry Bells of Fools

Harry was high...in the air, his brain buzzing with the rush of wind as he banked first one way, dipping around a lone tree that stood on the canyon's edge before rolling back the other way, swerving, then wrapping around the other bank's tree. It was like slalom skiing, or what Harry imagined it might be like from Hermione's descriptions.

There was no way he could go to lecture now-that Green Leaf of Draco's was some magical stuff. Time felt real slow.

Besides, even with Freddy's Odor-Destroyer and that third-year's Eye-Whitener, Harry didn't feel like entering class late again. Professor Trummeldown was starting to grumble about Harry's shoddy attendance (that prick!) but as long as Harry kept up on his assignments, he'd held off on reporting him to Domestic Hygiene.

_Think Potter! _There was only one period left in the day, only so much time before he was due at House Slytherin. And if Harry would have his way, he wanted to get that backstabbing weasel Ron _before_ he picked up the _Out-with-zit _from Malfoy.

Then his mind would be totally clear for tonight.

_Come on, brain, _come on. Harry was always forgetting things these days. What was Ron's schedule again? They'd memorized each others schedules since they'd began Hogwarts, knowing precisely which room and which class the other had at any point in the day, just in case...oh, your garden-variety goblin attacked your pet mouse or some ancient demon broke out of his seal, hell-bent on reclaiming earth for the legions of Darkness. They'd mostly done it though because they were friends, and that's what friends did.

They _were_ friends, before that pock-marked puke decided to try and sabotage his plans with Hermione.

Dipping back up from the latest tree, the bulging carpet of grass and boulder came ripping back below his legs. Hogwarts now hulked on the horizon-a soaring fortress supported on charcoal cliffs. The valley dipped below on all four sides of Hogwarts, the gray-stone towers that jumped towards the sky looking as if they were only chiseled from a mountain that had always surveyed the valley.

_That's right: Juggling and Other High-Court Entertainment!_ How could he have forgotten? Ron Weasley was just the sort of awkward idiot who'd elect such a _useless_ class. Bloody hell, it was fast becoming a passion. Ron had been so excited when he'd achieved six red-balls in the air at once, he just _had_ to run and show Hermione right away. As if she cared about the eccentricities of long-term virgins.

The class was taught by a fool. Literally: Beau Jangles had been a long time jester in the High Imperial Court of His Great Elevated Super Duper Wonder Majesty (gasp) Wilmer. In other words, Mr. Jangles had juggled for gnomes and made tiny, bearded men laugh until they pissed themselves. Or so the idiot claimed.

_One thing's for certain at least,_ Harry pondered as he flew below the tree-lined ridge on the East side, taking as much cover as he could get in case GroundsKeep were watching for class-cutters, _Beau Jangles is fool!_

Harry was counting on it.

Rocketing towards the cover of the West Wing battlements, Harry swerved to a low speed between an arcade of latticed arches, finally pulling a _Clean Brake_ inside the ceilinged stretch of Muggledown's bridge. He caught his breath for a moment, prone on his back behind the rail. When he was sure no one had seen him, he peeked his head back over the edge, surveying the inner courtyard of the West Sanctum.

_There!_ Hah; his memory was serving him better now, a bit more removed from the Green-Leaf's enchantment. Above the giant stone Jester, water sprouting from the beach ball one of his bell-capped slippers balanced on, was a stained glass window with some kaleidoscope depiction of a famous Gnome (Gerald, or something). He could see the open panel near the top of the arched window, as if Great Gnome Gerald's forehead had trapdoor access to his brain.

Harry looked once, twice-everything quiet save for the splash of water against a stone beach-ball-certain that all was clear, and then jumped off the bridge onto his broom.

The _Clean Brake_ was as quiet as he could make it. He slid to a stop on the narrow ledge before the open panel, inching slowly, _quietly_ to the opening. Jingling bells clanked happily below, in rhythm with a flute and the clapping of the class. Harry tip-toed with his back flat against the window, peering below his shoulder to catch a glimpse inside: he could hear it easily now, it sounded like the middle-ages were alive and well in that nerd-orgasm below. There was no reason for stealth.

_The man is a fool, _Harry reminded himself. "Umm...Mr. Jangles? Mr. Jangles?" He tried to make his voice sound like Helga Hufflebrown's, but it sounded bloody well contrived without magic's aid. It sounded...foolish.

"Who...Who's there?" The bells on his red and black checkered jester's hat jingled with the turning of Beau Jangles head, the class laughing riotously at the fool's antics. He hopped around from one foot to the other, shaking his head to each corner of the room. "Mr. Jangles can't seeeeee you!"

"It's Mrs. Hufflebrown, from the Administrative Office," Harry ground his teeth and flattened his back against the side for cover. He sounded so stupid. "We...We need to see Ron Weasley right away please."

Mr. Jangles pirouetted and spun around once in the air, the numerous bells on his suit proclaiming every movement. "It's a bit difficult to see him if you're not in the room." He hunched his shoulders and bit down on his lower lip, the class having to cover their mouths to keep from laughing.

That bloody fool was toying with him?!

"I...I _know_ that, Mr. Jangles." Harry tried to be patient. Gathering himself, he called over his shoulder to the lecture hall below: "That's why you need to _send_ him right away!"

"How should I send him then, by FedEx or UPS?" This time Mr. Jangles did two spins in the air, coming out of the second one with his arms splayed to the side and his left leg poised delicately behind him.

"JUST BLOODY WELL GET RON WEASLEY TO MY OFFICE!"

Harry jumped back from the opening, pinning himself flat against the window once more: the fool had looked up on that last outburst, almost as if he'd known all along that Harry was above him.

But it didn't matter. Harry heard the squeak of Ron's chair as he got up from it.

Harry smiled: maybe he could get by without casting a spell outside of class for a month, after all.

He was really starting to impress himself.

Quietly picking up his _Firebolt_ from the ledge, he couldn't help but grin: time to meet Ron at the entrance to the courtyard.


	4. Weasley Secrets

Harry had felt bad. But only for a moment. The shock on Ron's face, the absolute terror carved onto that freckled, Weasley face of his, had been worth the danger alone. He had come skipping down the steps, in full-whistle already by the Jester. When Harry stepped out from the thrush he was crouched behind, Ron's jolly trill was silenced.

"Hey, Ron." Harry waved with one arm and walked toward him slowly, deliberately.

That's when it happened: that face, all color sucked out in a moment, chin sunken in and quivering like he was ready to bawl. "Hey...hey Harry! What are you doing?"

Harry took one more casual step forward, noticing how Ron couldn't help but sneak a glance at his forehead. "What ya looking at, Ronny?"

He let Ron stutter for a few moments. "I uh, got, um, called by Mrs. Huffl...I. don't. know. wha, what's going on?"

Harry slugged him. Ron's head kicked back, but the point of Harry's elbow met it square before the ninny-winny swooned to the ground. Harry cuffed the sod's nose once more as he fell, the hit twisting Ron's face and causing Ron's jaw to meet the cobble-stone grotesquely.

That's when he felt bad. It would've been cleaner with magic, but there was nothing to do about that now: he needed to get out of there before any fools started noticing. Dragging the unconscious Ron by his legs, cringing with each bump of the head against the cobblestone, it felt like an eternity by the time he was back behind the hedges.

He patted Ron's pockets, ran up his arms, finally finding where the bugger kept his wand. "You won't be needing _that_," Harry whispered, tucking the wand in his inner-pocket.

Flying with such limp baggage proved difficult. It was worrisome enough blasting between stone hallways and fountains, seeking cover and moving only in spurts, careful as Patty Patience not to be seen by any GroundsKeep. That alone was _two_ Dursely's weight in difficulty, let alone his other problem: Ron kept swiveling over and nailing his head on the ground.

He only wanted to teach the bastard a lesson, not have him die before he ever learned it. It was right ruining his buzz.

Peaking his head around the column they hid behind, Harry looked right, then left, making sure no one walked in the shadowed hallway of the cloister that rang the perimeter of the courtyard. Gurgling softly between several platforms, the water of the center fountain was the only sound. The red and gold roses circling the fountain sucked the sun's rays, still in the heat of the day. Harry wiped his forehead (it wasn't _that _hot), straining his eyes to see if anyone moved between the arches. All looked clear.

"Hey, who's there?" It was a gravely voice, "No one's allowed broom-side during third hour! Stop! Stop, I say!"

Ron hit his head against a rose-bush as Harry throttled away, boot steps clapping down after them from the cloister they'd just fled. Swerving around the fountain, the stone wall of Hogwarts streamed toward him from behind the opening of hedges, as Harry, in full throttle, leaned all his weight into the right turn, feeling the tingle of a missed spell graze his backside as he sped away. Grazing the stone as they rounded the sharp corner, Ron's slack body spun two full revolutions round the broom before slipping off and "thudding" on the cobblestones.

"Come back here, brute!"

Harry slung Ron over his shoulder, labored back to his _Firebolt_, and kicked in to full throttle. Rocketing down the corridor, the rush of wall and stone a blur, he pulled up sharply on the handle, swooping over the twenty foot wall of thrush that appeared on their left. He knew where it led, didn't necessarily want to enter the Labyrinth, but he didn't have a choice. Descending silently to the ground, Harry rolled over on his back to catch his breath.

"You can't get away with this! What have you done?"

Harry could hear the boots beside him through the wall of giant hedge. Ron's eyes fluttered once, twice...

Cupping Ron's mouth, Harry stabbed a finger between his lips. "Be quiet," he mouthed, shaking a clenched fist in warning, "Or else."

Ron's eyelid's fluttered once more before his eyes rolled up, out cold once more.

Through the shrub, Harry heard the footsteps clap further down the main Courtyard.

_Shit! _Now what was he gonna do? Whoever that old-bag was, he was sure to call a full alert. His best chance was to stay here in the Labyrinth. Though they'd most likely put a guard on the perimeter of the great maze, no one was going to follow him in here unless they were absolutely certain...

But it might take him until tomorrow morning to find his way out again. And he was supposed to meet with Draco in...bloody hell, he needed to get out of here!

"Ron." Harry slapped him a couple times. "Ron. Wake up."

Ron groaned; Harry slapped him again.

"You need to be quiet."

"What...What's going on?"

"Never-mind about all that. You were...you were attacked. Luckily I was close by and was able to save you. But we're still being chased." Harry threw his head over his shoulder, checking to see if anyone there. "Listen: you still remember that spell Hagrad gave you? When you needed help with puzzles?"

"Wh..What?"

"Need to wake up, Ron." Harry slapped him again. "Do you remember it or not?"

"I think so." Ron cringed, flinging a hand in front of his face to block the next blow. "Yeah, I think so."

"Cast it then! But make sure you have this Labyrinth in mind when you do." Harry pulled the wand out of his pocket and placed it in Ron's palm.

Taking the wand, Ron rubbed his forehead, eyeing Harry suspiciously.

"Perploxo Illiminoso!"

Yellow daisies popped out of the ground, forming a clear line to follow as they punched up in the middle of the grass.

Harry grabbed Ron's wrist and twisted it up behind his back. "That's enough from you, you dirty, back-stabber." He elbowed Ron's already swollen temple, gathering him in the crook of his arm as the body crumpled.

Straddling over his _Firebolt_ again, Harry couldn't help but smile: He really was pretty damn impressive, wasn't he?

If he remembered right, the exit to the Labyrinth emptied out into the EnchantedForest. Which was precisely where he wanted to go.

Well, it was precisely where he wanted to leave Ron.

#

Harry barrel-rolled twice as the last row of trees pulled behind him, smiling as he flew low to the ground so the grass could tickle his cheeks. A few seconds further and he pulled another _Clean Brake_, hopped off his broom and surveyed the EnchantedForest he'd just left. He didn't want to forget where he'd left Ron...just in case: the rope he'd tied Ron up with was enchanted, and he wanted it back.

Harry felt a stab of consciousness. _Oh, broomsticks, he'll be fine._ The rope would slacken on its own, and then Ron could make his way out: Harry had even provided a map below the note he'd left behind.

_Ron. The wise men know it: He who laughs last, laughs best. Did you really think you could best me, Weasle? I hope you had a right well riot at this Zit's expense, because I'm the one laughing now. Hardy haw haw. Can you hear it? I'm bloody well peeing me pants._

_ P.S. Don't worry: the rope will loosen its hold in 12 hours or so. Enjoy you're night!_

Harry smiled again, felt the warmth of the sun against his cheeks. There was still plenty of time to see Malfoy and pick up that ointment. Maybe those muggles were on to something, after all: maybe you _could _get on fine without magic.

At the end of the field, Hogwarts loomed ahead, poised on its hill-top pedestal. Like flies buzzing around the battlements and towers, Harry made out the shapes of wizards on brooms. _Probably looking for me_. Harry grinned.

Running through the tunnels of grass that bowed over his head, Harry was grateful for the cover if not exactly thrilled about the delay in time. He glanced at his watch and soothed his nerves, reminding himself he had plenty of time. It was only a few minutes until last class ended, and then the skies would be free for every broomstick.

He was halfway across the field when his watch informed him the lecture-day closed. Through the weave of grass, he looked up at Hogwarts: now it was as if an empty hornet's nest stirred against the spires and turrets, the shouts and calls of freed students creating its own buzz. Throwing his _Firebolt _between his legs, Harry was fast whooshing through the grass tunnel to join them.

Popping out of the valley field, he swerved right at the ridge-the grassy overhang like a giant, chocolate wave with grass for foam-swooping up and around the outer wall on his way to House Slytherin. Weaving between the battlements, the snake-tongue tip of a Slytherin banner stinging him as he whipped by, he banked diagnolly, descended into the Inner Baily, and let slip a breath of relief. He'd made it back in without calling alarm.

"Over here, Potter."

As usual, Draco Malfoy was surrounded in a ring of his followers. Harry recognized Freddy Foxwell, Vincent Crabbe, that green-eyed third year, Gregory Goyle of course-all that had been at the gorge earlier and a few more. Draco had his hands behind his head, a piece of grass in his mouth, and was laying on the bench before the slope of the hill. The ends of the bench were sculpted serpents—wrapped tightly like a cinnamon roll before the head curved out to provide potential arms' rest.

"_Please,_ Mindy, you got an ass like the moon, curves finer then _magic_ could sculpt, holla at me, girl." It was that third-year. Skipping along as girls streamed by, he had his fingers in his mouth as if chewing his nails. "You _gotta_ let me tap that azz. I mean..._Abra-cadabra _you fine."

All Malfoy's gang erupted in laughter. Most were splayed around the bench, legs crossed on the ground and their heads resting on their rucksacks. Another older Slytherin, blond-hair pulled in a pony-tail, leaned up from the ground, snapped his fingers at the third-year, and thrust his chin at another girl walking by.

"Ah, no way...no _way_. You too fine for this world, honey. Sugar ain't got _nothin_ on your sweetness. Wait baby, don't run away...we gonna make fairy-tales together, girl. We gonna live happily ever after." The third-year went skulking after her, the rest of Malfoy's group rumbling in laughter once more.

"What up, Potter."

Harry slid his hand against the one Freddy offered him, tilting his head up slightly. "What up."

"I assume you're not just here to hang out." Draco said. Bending up a little bit, he tilted his head towards one of his gang. "Howard, reach in my bag for me and pull out that bottle."

Howard, orange hair matted and frizzled like he'd camped for a week straight, did as he was bid, and tossed the bottle to Malfoy. Draco tipped the container in his hand, offering it to Harry.

When Harry reached to grab it, though, Draco pulled it away.

"I'm still a bit curious, Potter, why you can't cast any spells." Draco smiled up at Harry, keeping the bottle out of reach.

"I never said I _can't_. I just don't _want_ to."

"You said _can't_, Potter, I remember." Draco handed him the bottle. "But if you want to keep your secrets..."

"Yeah. I do." He held the bottle under his eye-the stuff reminded him of sour cream-before tucking it in his inner poct. "Thanks."

Harry tried to hide his enthusiasm; he could've easily _skipped _back to his _Firebolt_. Now there was nothing and _no-one _standing between he and Hermione. Everything so far had gone _exactly_ as he'd planned. And if his date went according to plan, well, Hermione would soon be—

"Secrets are what kill you, Potter. It's the secrets that kill the soul." Draco yelled it at his back. "Personally, I think _honesty_ might be the policy. You should consider _that_ when you're with Hermione tonight!"

Lifting back to the air, Harry shook his head. What the hell was Malfoy talking about now? But it didn't matter; Harry wasn't _about_ to let anything damper his mood now: only a few more hours until...well, if everything went smoothly, only a few more hours until he and Hermione were...

-He almost crashed into a first-year, swerving out of the way just in time. The idiot was not quite as fortunate, spinning around three times before the tower wall stopped his whirling.

_Why do they let first-years have brooms? _So much for not letting anything sour his mood.


	5. A Date with the Full Moon

Harry's forehead still burned. But it wasn't the burning that bothered him so much as the tingling. The zit had shriveled almost right away, sucked up inside his forehead as if never there, but this burning-and worse yet, this tingling-had kept intensifying. It felt like his _brain_ was itching, not just his forehead-and he hadn't burned any more Green Leaf since he'd applied the cream.

The whole thing was distracting. As if his date wasn't going bad enough.

Hermione seemed concerned with one thing, and one thing only. "I'm worried about Ron, Harry." She pushed the macaroni around on her plate with her fork. "It's just...he _always_ meets me after juggling. But nobody seems to know where he is. And I talked to Lori, who's also in that class, and she said something really strange happened-that there was some weird request for Ron, though it didn't at all sound like it came from the Loud-Mouth."

"Strange." Harry mumbled in his palm, shoveling the last bit of salad in his mouth.

"I know. But that's not it. Cameron Boyle said that he was teacher's aid for Professor Muggeldon today, and he was helping organize some vials when some GroundsKeep came puffing all out of breath, screaming about some rascal on the main courtyard that ran from him. The GroundsKeep said that he thought-he couldn't be sure-that the punk carried some valuable statue or talisman or something."

"You don't say."

"You don't think it strange?" Hermione was hardly talking to Harry; once her brain got going on something, she just kind of started talking out loud. A damn shame, too, because she was looking mighty fine in that Hogwarts vest, the way her collar unfurled from underneath, cutting up from the bottom of the V-neck, showing enough skin to set Harry's imagination now tingling. Now, if she would only just shut-up; she'd be like ten times sexier.

"What did you say?" Suddenly Hermione was very concerned with Harry, engaged as it were with trying to bore holes through him with her eyes.

"I _said: _you should keep your mouth shut. I think you're a whole lot sexier when you're not talking." His head-no, his brain-was really tingling now. What was he saying? Still, it was like he was helpless to prevent the words from toppling out: "I mean, _Abra-Cadabra, _you've got such a nice pair, but-"

"What the hell is your problem, Harry?" The candle flames nearly went out as she crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair, pouting. Lips moving as she tried to find a place to begin, she was rendered momentarily speechless.

"I'm sorry, Hermione. I didn't want to upset you." It was true. Harry felt ridiculous all over again as he looked at the room. He'd gotten Nearly Headless Nick to give him the upper-tower prison room tonight and had spent nearly two hours getting it ready: sweeping the straw out of the room, scrubbing owl shit from the floor, covering the barred windows with curtains, scattering rose petals over their table and along the velvet carpet he'd laid; it all took time. It had looked bloody romantic by the time he was done: with the faint, candle light and silk tablecloth and curtains, the former cell was transformed to cozy. All, once more, without magic. Harry had been right impressed with himself.

Until, that is, Hermione had come in, totally shocked in all the _wrong _ways.

"I was just hoping we could be more than just friends." What was he saying? Powerless to stop himself, he could only sit there, brain tingling, and listen to himself act a fool. "Now I feel stupid and embarrassed, and, honestly, a bit upset for having spent all this time-"

"Oh, Harry, I understand." Hermione's eyes softened for the first time the entire evening. "I mean, you could have at least given me some sort of hint. You said you needed help on _Algebra_; if you had just been honest from the start, I don't know..." Hermione shrugged her shoulders.

"Really? You would've agreed?"

"Honestly? No. I'm sorry, Harry, I just don't...we're such good _friends_, I don't want to damage that. But aren't you worried about _Ron_, Harry? Don't you wonder where he could be?"

"No. I don't." Brain tingling, Harry hated himself for what he couldn't prevent saying: "I already know where he is."

Hermione, for once in her bloody, up-tight, self-righteous life, looked confused. "And where might that be?"

"I tied the weasel up in the EnchantedForest" with the look on Hermione's face, he was quick to add, "—only for the night of course. I mean, it's not like I'm _evil_. I used self-slackening rope and after-"

"Tonight's a full moon you, you...jack-ass!" She squealed. "Oh, _gypsy balls_, there's gonna be werewolves tonight! _Great Cyclop's second eye, _Harry! He might die! Where _is _he?"

"I don't think you need to worry about werewolves. I tied him up close to the giant-spider den. Werewolves don't go _near_ them spiders."

Hermione looked at Harry as if he were Voldemort. "But Ron is _terrified _of spiders. Nothing terrifies him more."

"I know."

There was nothing left for Hermione to do but slap him. "You're going to go with me, Harry Potter, right now! Unless you want Dumbledore to know about this. And if my memory of the Code of Conduct serves me correctly, tying up a fellow student in the EnchantedForest-during a full moon!-is grounds for expulsion, Harry. A lifetime ban from _ever_ learning magic. What's gotten in to you?"

"Ron put an enchanted zit on me." Man, why couldn't he just keep his mouth shut? "He knew what I was planning tonight, and he wanted to sabotage it."

Hermione's cheeks flushed for moment; from anger or embarrassment, it was hard to tell. "But there's no zit on it now..."

"It's because I got some stuff from Malfoy. He owed me one and so he gave me this cream to get rid of that sucker. Worked like an earth-spell, too: you shoulda seen it, sucked that bastard right-"

"Malfoy gave you that stuff?" Hermione placed her hands on her hips, her anger replaced by deduction. "Wait. Harry? _Malfoy _gave you that stuff! It must have had something else inside. That's it! It must have had some truth-ointment as well. Why else would you be telling me all this-"

A knock came from the door. "It's the music you requested."

Harry thought for a moment, confused. "But I didn't order any music."

The hinges squeeled as the door was kicked open, Hermione screaming in shock. But it was only a dwarf, dressed up smartly in a gold-buttoned, red vest, a white handkerchief draped over his forearm. "Pardon the interruption, my lovely guests," the dwarf said, bowing as he took a step in the room, "my master would simply like to know what it is that keeps master Harry Potter from casting any spells."

"Oh, that's because Mrs. Honeycut and I made a deal. I'm not allowed to cast spells becau-"

"Shut up, Harry! Don't say another word!" Hermione grabbed her wand. "Who do you think this midget's master is? Come on, Harry, we gotta go. _Dwarfus Inhibitus!"_

The dwarf froze as it reached out to grab Hermione.

Harry ran after her down the spiral staircase of the prison tower, still not quite sure what was going on.

"Hang on, Ron, we're coming."

"I wish," Harry couldn't help but muttering. But it seemed like for once he'd said something over Hermione's head. Perhaps it was too low beneath it.

#

It felt good to have her arms wrapped around his belly; so good, he kept jolting the accelerator so Hermione had to hold on tighter. It made him feel like a real man. He was the hero, and she was his girl, as they went whipping together through the moon-lit valley, riding together on his broomstick on crazy adventures. He'd only imagined taking Hermione out for a ride together, and now...well, now it sucked. So much of the real world, Harry was finding, sucked lemons.

"How can you be sure this is the place?" Hermione had to yell in his ear.

Accelerating once more, he forced her to clutch his upper chest tighter. At the end of the field, Harry pulled to a halt before the fringe of trees. In the pale light of the moon, Harry made out faces on the knobs of the bark-stretched, agonozied faces; they screamed in unending and eternal torment. He shook his head. It was just the EnchantedForest doing crazy things; it was just his imagination. Maybe he should cut down on the Green Leaf.

Harry was hardly relieved when, from the look on Hermione's face, he noticed that she saw them too. _Guess it's not just from all that burning..._

Hermione's fear was only channeled into anger. "Think what poor Ron is going through right now." She ran into the darkness of the forest, countless yellow eyes blinking in the blackness beyond.

Harry had no choice. Placing his _Firebolt_ under a tuft of grass (it was too dark, even on a full-moon, to safely navigate through the trees. Harry wanted to try, but Hermione had insisted...), he trotted after her.

"Hold my hand." She whispered from the dark.

"Gladly." It was strangely cool inside the trees: from a sliver of moonlight that punched through the canopy, Harry saw the trail of Hermione's breath. He shivered, though not from the cold: it felt like a million eyes were watching him.

"I'd cast a magic light, but I don't want to draw any attention."

"Ow!" It was as if the tree-branch had taken a swipe at him. The brunt of the blow had missed, but the pine-needles which had grazed his arm still stung. Rubbing the itch of where they'd brushed him, he was surprised to find blood. "Oh, Jesus; I'm bleeding, Hermione! I'm bleeding!"

"Shhhhh." Her whisper was acid. "Harry, I think these are Petrified Pines-they feed on _fear_, Harry. They smell our fear...We need to think happy thoughts. Think, Harry: what's the nicest thing you can imagine?"

"Uhhh...that would be you...naked." Harry's brain still tingled.

"Jesus, Harry!" Before Hermione could be sufficiently offended, however, a tree root tripped her.

"The whole crucifix scene ain't exactly pleasant, Hermione."

They could both hear creaking sounds, the rustle of leaves, and a strange energy, like the pent-up strain in an old-person's stretch. The trees were moving, closing in around them, the darkness growing even deeper as the light from the moon extinguished.

"Quidditch!" Hermione shrieked from the ground.

A column of moonlight broke through the canopy, illuminating Hermione as if she were under the lime-light of the Arts and Tragedy Hall. Like a spiked mace, a tree branch hung frozen poised not three feet above Hermione's pale face, as if it clubbed her from above.

"Just...think about Quidditch, Harry," Hermione tried to keep her voice level, her eyes following the branch as it slowly straightened back up away from her head, "think about the rush of the wind, the thrill of the chase, the glory felt when you catch the Quaffle."

Slowly, the trees around them backed away, moonlight showering Harry and Hermione as a clearing opened up around them.

"Remember when I was still in first year?" Harry smiled, folded his arms over each other. "That was pretty freaking awesome. I mean, I was like the _best_ rider on that team. When was the last time Gryffandor had won anything?"

"You're...you're right," Hermione stuttered, eyeing the retreating trees warily, "That was...awesome. You were...incredible. Ron went on for days about—"

At the mention of Ron's name, the halo of moon light began to shrink once more.

"_I_ was so impressed, Harry. I was so proud to have you as my friend. Nobody could stop talking about Harry Potter. Heck, no one's _stopped_ talking about Harry Potter since..."

Just when it seemed like the spotlight from the moon would grow once again, it stalled.

"So why aren't you interested in me then, Hermione? Why don't you want to be with me?"

"Oh, Harry, I don't know-think about Quidditch, Harry, _Quidditch_," Hermione watched the trees nervously, "how you were like the hero...and so young. Remember when you caught the golden snitch in under five minutes? Well...well _I _sure do. I'd never seen it done-"

"Or when I caught it again a couple years later to win the overall Championship? That was awesome-

Hermione ran this time when the trees cleared, Harry following her out into the open meadow and away from the Petrified Pines. In the distance, they could hear the howls of wolves, and shuddered at what they could only imagine behind those calls. Huge, granite boulders littered the clearing, looking like tombstones in the ghostly light of the moon. They made out strange symbols on the boulders, glowing pale blue, and a ring of wraiths holding each others transparent hands as they hovered around the boulders.

"The spirits of the Full-Moon," Hermione whispered reverently. "They're often mistaken to be malevolent-er, to be evil spirited-but they're really just mysterious, assumed to be bad only because they refuse to bend to the will of any human hand. We don't need to fear them."

"You know, Hermione, a lot of people, myself included, think that you're a righteous little, know-it-all. You're really annoying to a lot of people."

This _Out-with-Zit _was really doing nobody any good. (How could he have been so stupid, Malfoy had simply mixed the blemish cream with the truth slave, _Out-with-It_).

"Say, Harry," Hermione looked hesitant, "So why is it that you can't cast any spells right now?"

As they walked through the meadow (Harry insisted, harmless or not, they keep clear of any and all 'full-moon spirits'), Harry was forced to recount his meetings with Mrs. Honeycut, and despite how much he knew he would regret telling her, even mentioned the concern Mrs. Honeycut had about him being alcoholic (Hermione seemed quite interested in that one, though she didn't bat an eye about his dad being known for his love of magic _substance_s). It was perhaps a good distraction, and they both had nearly forgotten about the Petrified Pines by the time they reached the end of the meadow.

"Help! Oh, sweet baby Jesus, somebody help!" The squeal was unmistakably Ron's.

"We're coming, Ron!" Hermione yelled, Harry forced to follow her yet again as she went diving into the dark-emerald glow of the next clump of trees.

They ran down a slight slope-Harry nearly tripping over a few, un-enchanted roots that ran over the worn-path-weaving between thick, tree stems, stumbling towards the sound of Ron's call. Hermione pulled up sharply-Harry sliding against the path and almost slamming into her-right before the edge of a ravine. The small clearing dipped below the ring of trees, as if a crater had slammed the earth, or some Giant five times the size of Hagrad had squished his imprint on the carpet of trees. Ron lay squirming against the boulder Harry had tied him to, his legs scraping ruts in the moist soil. In the misty haze of moonlight, a bat-winged creature stood with its wingspan spread open before Ron, shrieking so high-pitched it hurt Harry's ears even though hardly heard.

"Oh no, Harry!" Hermione's scream made Harry wonder who the banshee really was. "That banshee has Ron under its spell. We've got to do something!"

Harry tried to pull her back, but Hermione shrugged out of his grip, jumping from the ridge onto the clearing below. She unsheathed her wand from her vest pocket. The blanched-face banshee looked at her.

_"Demonios Prohibitos!"_ Hermione dabbed her wand at the banshee as if she were flinging paint from a brush. The spell glittered in the air, speeding across the clearing at its target.

The banshee batted the twinkling stream of light away with its forearm. Its mouth stretched wide like a snake's, fangs glistening as it shrieked at Hermione.

Harry had known it would go just like this.

"Hermione! No!" Ron's whelp now competed with the others. But, unlike the banshee's, his was absolutely powerless to influence anything.

All could only watch, helpless, as Hermione was flung in the air, spinning backwards twice before she slammed into a tree, flipping twice now forwards as she fell back down, creating her own little crater on impact.

Harry had known it would go just like this: he was the only wizard here with enough skill to combat a Moon Meadow Banshee. He sighed, hopping down from the ridge, landing between Hermione and the approaching banshee. Did he really want to do this?

It spread its wings when Harry landed, clawed feet ripping up the earth as it stepped toward them. Harry pulled Ron's wand out of his robe.

_"Succubus Vaccumus!" _Putting all his frustration into the spell, the poor banshee didn't have a chance.

It was as if the air itself puckered its lips and sucked: the banshee was pulled into the air, vanishing as if being sucked down a drain, shrieking against its fate as, erased from existence, the sky slurped it down.

Harry scowled as he walked back toward Hermione, ignoring her sprinkles of gratitude as he helped her back to her feet.

"I want that rope back when you're done," He shouted at her back as she ran to help Ron. He'd already cast one spell, so his thinking went, so he decided to break his contract one more time and cancel this _Out-with-It._

What he saw next broke his heart.

Hermione was hugging Ron, sobbing with joy that they'd rescued him in time. She'd apparently been talking bad about Harry, because it was Ron he heard who came to his defense.

"No way, I'm not upset with Harry. Harry needs our help, Hermione. Mrs. Honeysuckle said that he's really sick and needs all of our help."

Hermione hugged him tight and then kissed him on the lips. "Oh, Ron. You're so brave. You're so beautiful. You're so beautifully brave."

They kissed with all the intensity of a years' passion withheld, with the tenderness of a friendship blossomed to something more. They kissed as if Harry didn't exist. And still they kissed.

It broke his heart.


	6. Destiny's Child

"Well, I still think what you did was brave." Mrs. Honeys-Helena, he _still_ felt odd calling her Helena-tilted her head as she smiled at him. "Even if it was just kind of cleaning up your own mess."

"I guess." Harry shrugged his shoulders, kept his eyes fixed on the desk.

"Oh come on, Harry," Helena laughed, "After all this time, after all we've worked on-after all _you've_ worked on, all _you've _overcome-you still act sometimes just like you did when you first came in."

Harry glanced back up and smiled. It was easy to smile with Helena. After that night with the Banshee-that terrible night of the failed date-after the inevitable discovery of Harry's broken contract (not a day after it was settled) there had been a whole bunch of new "consequences". Though Harry had cast away the effects of the _Out-With-It, _it seemed that Ron had smeared it all over his body: Hermione at least had the wit to try and cover up the events of the night, but Ron...he'd told them _everything_. Yet to his great surprise, the High Court of Magic hadn't automatically kicked him out of Hogwarts: Helena Honeysuckle's efforts to raise awareness of Hogwarts' unpleasant problem had influenced even the High Court. So instead, Harry had the choice of completing Helena's _magic substance_ _abuse_ program or leaving Hogwarts for good. Forced between the Dursley's or Helena, the choice had been none at all.

"So, you ready?" Helena pushed off from her desk and walked over to her office door, holding it open for Harry. "You look really nice in 'muggle' clothes, by the way."

Harry grinned again, fiddling with the knot around his neck. Why did muggles where these ties, anyway? Was it like a leash that chained them to their desks? "Yeah, well...you don't look so bad yourself."

She patted his back as he walked out into the hall. "_There's_ the guy I know."

He walked down the hall, heart rushing in spite of himself. It was so muggle: the thin, gray carpet that smelled like the inside roll of toilet-paper; the narrow hallways with low ceilings, not a touch of decoration on lights, windows, or doors because it might break the budget.

Harry took a deep breath (something Helena had taught him). This was hardly a big deal. He'd caught snitches when it counted, fought banshees and lived to get caught, surely he could do this. He stopped before the next plain, wooden door and let out another breath.

"Just tell them what you just told me." Helena ruffled his head playfully. "Remember: be yourself, stick to your truth, and everything will work out fine. And if you need a bit of extra motivation, don't forget that after this speech you're officially done. Then you can get back to Hogwarts and all that magic you love."

_Might as well get it over with_. Harry pushed his glasses up his nose and opened the door. Walking up to the podium in front of the room, the conversations snuffed out like candles as he passed, as thirty or forty other of Hogwarts- least-finest shifted in their seats to get a look at the great Harry Potter. _Deep Breath_. Clasping the edges of the podium, he looked out over the room and gathered himself. You could have heard a rabbit sniffing.

"I can remember when I first came in. I was just like some of you, some of you newer guys. I can still remember when I heard my first speaker. Hah! Man, I thought he was so full of shit. Anyway. I'm supposed to tell you what I learned, and what helps me stay away from the _magical substances_. Look, I'm just gonna tell you straight up: I'm still not sure it was just the Green-Leaf or the Punched Cider. I do know that I feel a whole hell of a lot better without them. But what I came to find-what my truth turned out to be-is that there's more powerful stuff out there than _magical substances_, there's stuff out there more powerful than _magic_. I'm talking about Love, mates; it's Love that will change a man-for better or for ill. In my case, it changed me both ways."

"What I've learned is that sometimes there is this thing called _Fate_ in the world. Magic or no, it definitely influences our lives." Harry shook his head, "Hell, sometimes it feels like there's someone out there, writing my story for me, as if I hardly got a choice as to what I want. Well, what I've learned, what helps keep me off the _magical substances_-hell, what simply keeps me happy-is to not fight Fate."

"I don't know the bigger plan. But it's like there's two kinds of Love, like I said: one's all small-minded and like against Fate while the other ones bigger, the kind of Love that Fate wants, regardless of what you might think best at the time. Shit, I don't know what I'm saying."

The room laughed with Harry. He glanced up at Mrs. Honeysuckle-leaning against the door in the back of the room, eyes, he could even see from at the podium, wet with pride.

"No, I know what I'm saying. I'm saying that I learned some lessons about Love. I've learned something about being a man, mates. You gotta lose something to become a man, something that means the world to you. Because Fate wants to know if you're man enough for what She's got planned for you."

As Harry walked back from the podium, the stillness of the room ruptured into applause.


End file.
